Peter's Dreams
by Francienyc
Summary: Even the High King can't control biology. Aslan tells him as much. Oneshot


_A/N: Here's what you get when thinking about what it must be like to grow up with no adults to tell you what growing up is like, and what you go through. Peter's been having a bit of biology problem. Also, admittedly this is kind of a ripoff of Andi Horton's very awesome story "Peter Bows" and the appearance of Aslan is directly inspired by Chapter 13 of "A Sea of Golden Sand." Both are amazing stories. And of course, no story of mine these days gets past embryonic form without my writing partner rooty-boots, who helped me cook up the prelude to this scene. Now I'll post a general plea for reviews. Please, people, they make my day. And to all of you faithful who are asking for "All the Dreams that Might Have Been," I really haven't forgotten that story. I just hit a brick wall of writer's block ever since I started imagining Lucy with Corin of Archenland, and now I don't know how to get my Lucian groove back on. But I'm trying, I promise you that, and I think I know how to proceed. Alright, enough author's notes.  
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Peter tossed in his bed, waking slowly from a fevered dream. When at last he opened his eyes, he realized he was gasping. The air, as it had been for weeks, was thick and hot, and he prayed this explained the slick coat of sweat all over his body. The damp sheets clung to him with a stickiness he grew to understand wasn't from the heat. And he knew. Those dreams of desire had returned, the ones he prayed were over, which forced him to have a release he never permitted himself in waking moments.

He laid his head back on the pillows with a groan, and then a horrid thought occurred to him and he snapped his head to the side. No. No, thank Aslan, she wasn't there. She was safe in her own room, away from him, her twisted brother. He was scared to try and see the face in his dreams, for what if it was Susan's. What if…?

He had tried everything. Everything. He had swum for hours in the sea. He had worn himself out in the tiltyard, then taken a bath of ice water which made his muscles seize up painfully, especially in this heat. He hadn't looked directly at Susan for two weeks, and he had avoided her as much as possible. He knew he was hurting her to keep her from this, but he didn't know what else to do. He missed her terribly, but the fact that they had been so inseparable…wasn't that bad? Brothers and sisters didn't behave like that.

But he had put a stop to it, and still the dreams returned, making him twist the bed clothes, soak them with something that came from him, though he didn't know what it was. He turned onto his side and curled into a ball, whimpering helplessly, covering his face with his hand.

"Please, Aslan. Please take these dreams away. I beg of you. I don't know what else to do, so I throw myself at your mercy. Please," he moaned in misery.

The most delightful breeze stirred the curtains and the bedclothes, shaking the heavy stillness from the air. When Peter felt it, he opened his eyes fearfully, whispering "Please no." He looked around, but the room was empty, and he couldn't decide if he were better or worse off for that. The idea of those all seeing eyes looking at him now was too much to bear, yet when he saw the room was empty his loneliness doubled. He squeezed his eyes shut again and pulled the soiled sheets tighter around him, fighting against tears.

Then he heard the voice. "Peter, my son." It was a deep voice, sweet with reassurance, but Peter felt more wretched for hearing it. His eyes stayed closed.

"Peter, my son. Open your eyes."

He could not disobey. He opened his eyes slowly, and sure enough, the Great Lion was looking right into his face. Peter sat up a little, and for a moment embarrassment covered his wretchedness. If he were appearing before Aslan, he would like a chance to comb out the cowlick that grew from each night's tossing, or at least wear proper clothes, perhaps a dressing gown. But now Aslan could see all his shame, and he felt lower than before. He fingered the sheet in his hands, bowing his head. "Aslan. You're here."

"Did you not call on me, Peter?"

"Yes, but…I didn't think you would come," Peter answered. His voice had been growing deeper and more resonant recently, but now when he spoke he sounded as he did when he was Edmund's age—young and scared as a boy.

The Lion gave a slightly reproachful flick of the tail. "I have always come to those who need me. And so I come to you, Peter, for I can see you are troubled in your mind."

Peter clenched the sheet in his clammy fist. "I just want these dreams to go away."

"That I cannot do," Aslan answered calmly.

Peter turned wide eyes on Aslan. Despite the heat of the night, he felt cold all over. "Why, Aslan? Please, you have to help me. I can't…This can't keep happening to me."

"Peace," the Lion answered in a deep voice. "You are losing yourself, Peter, thinking that the office I bestowed on you gives you all control."

"No! I do everything in your name, I claim no glory for myself. Aslan, I've tried so hard to be everything you asked of me." Peter had never felt such a deep despair. It tore at him, scratching a great gash in his chest from the inside.

"But you think you can control everything, especially yourself. You are a human man, Peter, and there are things that all men must go through, just as when the time comes for your sister, she will have to endure things all women know. You must accept that you cannot stop these dreams."

A low wail escaped Peter's lips, and he went limp. "I dream of my sister. My own sister, who I love and honor above all other women. Who I never want to see hurt. And yet I dream of destroying her. And now you say nothing can be done."

"My son, you listen to your fears. I know what that girl said to you, that you do not want her because she is not your sister. I know that you took that to heart. But you did not think that she spoke not from her knowledge but her pain. She admired you greatly," Aslan said with slow patience. "You have strove to keep Susan from your mind, but I bid you think of her now."

"No," Peter said, shaking his head fearfully. "I can't."

"You must. How will you ever be the High King this country needs if you are quail from every fright, especially those within your own mind. Face yourself, Peter, and hide no longer. Think of your sister," Aslan's voice was still low, but the golden eyes he fixed on Peter were resolute. The people often said of the High King that whenever he grew resolute in facing down some fear, he had the look of Aslan in his eyes. He knew he could not refuse. He bowed his head and called Susan to mind.

Susan, his constant companion. The sister who was ever by his side, willing to help him, to hold him when he was troubled. He knew he needed her for the thousand small things she did for him every day. He knew he needed her for companionship, and for aid with Edmund and Lucy and Narnia. She was undeniably beautiful. He had to realize that in order to safeguard her beauty.

Aslan watched with his tail curling slowly, his soft breath filling the room. "Now think of your dreams. Are they of Susan?"

Peter closed his eyes, wincing. He was terrified of what his mind would show him, but there was no turning back now. With a gasp, he recalled the impressions of his dreams: that strange, wild, aching pleasure brought on by…by…in the end he could not say who, only that it was the touch of a woman. "I don't want it to be Susan," he whispered at last.

"If you do not want it to be her, then it is not. You know right from wrong, Peter. I would not have chosen you otherwise. But if you do not trust your knowledge, it is for naught, and you will fail in this task I have set for you. Pay heed to your fears no longer."

Peter leapt from the bed and fell to his knees before Aslan, taking up the great velveted paw in his hands and kissing it. "Thank you, Aslan. Thank you."

He swore he heard the Lion purr as He bent to touch his tongue to Peter's forehead. "I have only made you see what is within yourself. Now that you are comforted, my son, there is one who also needs reassurance." Then He breathed, and the sweet, strong golden scent of his breath filled Peter's senses for a second. When at last he came back to himself, the room was empty. Aslan was gone, but the air was somewhat cooler.

Peter sat back on his haunches a moment, reflecting. When he thought about it now it seemed so silly. How could he want Susan? This—what ever _this_ was that he was going through—this was not related to her. And he had been pushing her away from him.

He stood up and changed his night shirt conscientiously before pulling on his dressing gown. He hurried down the hall and pushed Susan's door open quietly.

She was lying in bed, staring into the sweltering darkness as she chewed on her thumbnail. Her eyes were bright and anxious, and Peter's heart went out to her. He knew he was the cause of this. He went over to her and sat on the edge of her bed, laying a hand on her back. "Su," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Su."

She sat up at once and put her arms around his neck. "Oh Peter!"

He held her tightly, unafraid. She was the Lady of Cair Paravel, his partner, and there was no shame in that.


End file.
